CHAPTER FOURTEEN – ‘FOR THOSE IN PERIL ON THE SEA’
The Office again. High up in a tower block somewhere, sometime; there is a meeting going on. Where is this place? Tom wonders briefly, before he again becomes one of the men in the room: the old man with the grey hair and a well–fitted charcoal grey suit. The man in the suit is irritated. The sand table in front of him shows random patterns: one in 1666, another in 1879 and finally a third developing in the 1940s. Such things offend him. To him, order and predictability are all important. The time lines he was created to preserve should flow naturally, but these random variations make that difficult. It is the boy, of course. The man can sense him out there somewhere in one of the realities. He interferes and creates chaos and he must be stopped.
But that is where the trouble starts, for the boy is difficult to locate. Something is shielding him and protecting him from the old man. Perhaps it is the very nature of his randomness that makes it difficult for the old man’s ordered mind to locate him. Or maybe there is something more than that. Still, he now has the possibility of ending the problem. He studies the other two present at the meeting. One is an officer, dressed in a military uniform, sitting bolt upright, almost at attention. The other is looking out of the office window, his face turned away from the old man. The sunlight coming in silhouettes him and makes it hard to pick out his features.
“So, do we have an understanding, sir?” the officer says in a brisk voice.
“Indeed we do. The boy is a threat to the stability of time. You bring him to me and I will deal with him,” the old man replies.
“What will you do with him? Will he be harmed?” asks the third figure still standing at the window.”
“He need not be. He must lose his powers, though. In return he will be safe, I guarantee it,” the old man promises.
“I have your word on that, do I?” asks the man at the window and as he does so he turns towards the room...
Tom squinted to make out his face, but, by then, he was the old man no more: he was Tom again and he was confused. These dreams were different to those involving Mary, Edward and Charlie. The dreams about those three had shown times when they were in mortal peril. But the two dreams in the Office did not seem to relate to mortal peril, did they? And they seemed not in the past, but the present. Who were the three men? One seemed to have been Redfeld. But he had no idea who the old man or the man at the window were.
“Ah there, you see? it’s flashing now, I think it’s about time we were going,” Septimus said, coming in through the door. Tom blinked and realised he was sitting in the Professor’s office and had been day dreaming. It was a couple of days after he, Edward and Septimus had chased Mary across London and finally found her in Marble Arch tube station. Tom had spent two ordinary days at school – if any of his life at present could be considered ordinary – and then arrived back at the Institute. He was now able to control the random movements in time or in space that caused such embarrassment to him and such hilarity in others. He was still forgetting homework, however, and seemed as a result to find himself in detention more often than not. However, Thursday evening had finally arrived and he had Walked to London where Septimus was waiting for him.
On the floor in front of them was the table cloth with the square drawn on it, representing the confines of the packing case on the Empress of India. As soon as they had again changed into wetsuits and diving apparatus he and Septimus sat in it.
“Good luck, gentlemen,” said the Professor. With a nod at the old man, Septimus turned to Tom.
“You must this time add in another element to your Walking, boyo. It’s no good just aiming for the sea around where we think the ship should be. The tracer I left in that crate is giving out a signal. It’s sending out waves of temporal disturbance. You know the date and you know the rough area. As we Walk you must locate the signal and use it to guide us to the crate on the Empress.”
“How do I do that?” Tom asked.
“You ever used a mobile phone?”
“Yes, of course. Mum and Dad bought me one for my birthday!”
“Well, you know that sometimes the signal is poor? You only get one bar or even none on the signal strength indicator?” he asked and seeing Tom nod went on. “So what do you do then?”
“Well, if you can’t get a signal you might try … you might try moving about a bit. Sometimes just the other side of the room has a better signal.”
“And if you are talking at the time and get a fuzz or buzz on the line you can try the same thing?” suggested Septimus. Tom nodded.
“Right, boyo, so what you do is similar; reach out for the Flow and as we walk back you will feel something like a buzz or fuzz in it. Try and follow that buzz and it will lead us back.”
Tom felt a bit apprehensive but then he nodded, “Ok.”
“Now, Tommy, when we get to the Empress again it should be a few minutes before the U–boat surfaces. We will need to locate her and then try to get on board and find young Charlie after the British boarding party have left, but before she sinks. If it all goes wrong we pull out and get away fast – understand?”
Tom nodded again, although he had no intention of leaving Charlie behind. He had been Charlie during that dream and knew the fear he had felt. All the same, he was very frightened once again. In the last two weeks he had been stabbed by Zulus and almost burnt to death in the Great Fire of London. Was he about to drown? It seemed a dangerous thing, this time travelling.
“Right then, Tom, time to go,” Septimus said and Tom, checking that the ball and chain was secured tightly round his waist, took his companion’s outstretched hand and reached out for the Flow of Time.
Feeling its now familiar presence, he Walked them both back along the Flow and towards the Mediterranean. At first, he could not feel any signal or disturbance until, all of a sudden and with an almost violent jolt, he felt it. It wasn’t much like the buzz Septimus had described, but now he knew what to look for it was very easy to lock on to the tracer signal and he followed it until, a moment later, they were sitting in the packing crate. There was hardly enough light to see, but Tom felt the motion of the ship rising and falling and also it was tilting gently from side to side: they were definitely at sea.
There was a rustling sound followed by a click and suddenly Tom was blinded by a bright light shining right into his eyes. He squinted and saw Septimus had switched on a torch.
“Oops! Sorry about that, boyo. Just need to find the tracer. Ah, here it is,” and he scooped up the tracer from the crate and then clicked off the torch. Right then, I’m going to lift up the crate lid now. Quiet!”
Septimus gently pushed up the lid and they both peeped over the top. Outside, it was night–time, the sky illuminated by stars as well as a sliver of moonlight. For a moment, they could see little. Then, with a bang, there was a burst of light high up in the sky and the sea was revealed for a few moments. Over the side of the boat they became aware that there were two, three, no ... four ships visible. One close by the Empress, the others further away. The light faded and the Empress was alone in her own world again.
“That’s the Paladin’s flotilla,” Septimus said, “looks like they are still searching for the U–boat. I ... oh my word ...!”
Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by a loud pop and another star shell soared up high. This time, Tom saw the nearest destroyer pass close to the Empress and suddenly several barrel–like objects were flung high and far from the rear of the destroyer. They arched up and then plummeted into the sea. There was a moment’s pause and then a deep boom under the water, followed by the surface of the sea erupting upwards.
“Depth charges, Tom. The destroyers are closing in on the U–boat. I think ... quick! Down!” Septimus said and they sank back down into the crate, hastily replacing the lid. Tom heard several thumping footsteps, as a number of sailors ran past the crates.
They waited a few moments and then dared another peek. The crew seemed to have moved off to
another part of the ship. Now that his eyes were adjusting to the gloom, Tom could see the destroyers out at sea were circling around a small patch of water. Then, more depth charges were fired.
Suddenly, only two hundred yards away, a sleek grey shape burst into view: it was the U–boat! It shot out from the sea bow first, almost like a dolphin jumping for fish at the aquarium. It lay silent for a moment and then Tom saw men emerging from inside and coming out on deck. On top of the U–boat was a single large gun and Tom thought the crew were rushing to man it and fire at the merchant vessel. The British destroyers must have thought the same because they turned towards the German submarine and began firing at it. There was the boom of a large gun on the nearest destroyer and soon afterwards a rapid pom–pom of smaller pieces and the ratatat of machine guns. Some shots hit the side of the U–boat low down and along the conning tower. Then, the shooting stopped, because the German crew were obviously abandoning ship and jumping overboard.
“Not long now, boyo: better get out,” Septimus ordered.
They clambered out on deck then moved to the rail deep in shadow at the side of the ship. A few moments later they saw a lifeboat being lowered from the nearest destroyer, which had to be the Paladin. As they watched, two sailors started stripping off uniforms. Tom saw them dive overboard. They swam across the gap to the U–boat, passing the groups of floating German sailors and hauling themselves up the side. “There’s our man,” whispered Septimus. The lifeboat now crossed the gap and came alongside the U–boat. Several sailors got out and followed the other two sailors up the conning tower.
By now, the U–boat was starting to sink: it was already low in the water and little of the deck remained above the sea level.
“When do we go, Septimus?” Tom cast his mind back to the dream, imagining Charlie in the U–boat searching for documents and machinery.
“Soon, Tom ...” Septimus began, but then he froze.
“Tom, I think someone is poking a revolver into my back,” he hissed.
Tom turned his head: saw a crewman standing right behind them, holding a gun to Septimus’ spine.
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” He was about six foot six, with a wild black beard and looked about as wide in the shoulders as he was tall.
“Now turn round; slowly. I’ve caught me two German spies by the looks of things. German spies who just escaped from their U–boat, eh? Well, you picked the wrong boat to land on.”
“We aren’t German spies, boyo,” Septimus protested, raising his hands.
The sailor gave a humourless laugh. “That supposed to be a Welsh accent? It’s pathetic. Don’t train you Nazis very well, do they?” His gaze rested on Tom, “Start ‘em young, too.”
Tom shivered. He could hear the frantic cries of drowning Germans in the inky black water. Further out to sea came the intermittent thud of shellfire. Nearer at hand men were shouting as the rescue operation continued. He risked a quick glance at the sub. The water was now creeping up the conning tower.
“Look, we are running out of time and really need to go,” Septimus said urgently out of the corner of his mouth.
Tom nodded. The sailor snorted, waving the revolver from Septimus to Tom and back again. “I said don’t move. You are not going anywhere!” he growled, his attention suddenly caught by the ball and chain glinting at Tom’s waist. “What the hell is that?”
“Um, er, a m–m–marker buoy,” Tom stuttered; it was all he could think of.
“More likely some kind of grenade; planning to blow us up, were you? Give it here. You two are going into the hold until I’ve got more time to deal with you.” The sailor ground the revolver into Septimus’s chest, at the same time reaching out a large hand to grasp the chain.
“I really mean it. We need to be going right now!” Septimus rolled his eyes and jerked his head, “If someone would just provide a distraction, Tom ...,” he hissed in desperation.
Somewhere inside Tom’s head, the penny dropped and gathering himself, he Walked. Only a couple of feet, but, from the sailor’s point of view, just as he was reaching for the chain, the boy disappeared and reappeared right behind him.
Stretching out his hand, Tom tapped the Empress crewman on the shoulder.
“What the heck...?” began the sailor, spinning round.
Septimus moved fast. Throwing the torch to Tom, he punched the sailor full in the face. The big brute whimpered slightly and collapsed.
“Well done, Septimus!”
“Yes ... but for a moment I did not think you were going to move. Bit slow on the uptake, Tommy, eh?” said Septimus, blowing on his bruised knuckles.
Tom nodded apologetically, “Sorry, I ...”
“Never mind. Right then: we Walk straight from here across to the U–boat. We will need to appear five feet beyond the side of the sub, towards the rear ? in the engine room. Should be empty of Germans and probably no Brits will be there either. Think you can manage that?”
Tom nodded and got ready to Walk.
“Oi you!” shouted a voice from the darkness near the stern of the Empress of India. Then suddenly a shot rang out. It ricocheted off the railing in front of Tom and punched a hole in the crate the two of them had been hiding in earlier.
“They are shooting at us, boyo. Let’s go.”
Without a word, the pair Walked off the deck of the ship and traversed the short hop to the U–boat.
They appeared in the submarine’s engine room, which was already four feet deep in water with more gushing in through the door leading to the conning room, where Charlie would be about now. Tom suddenly lost his footing; he slipped in the oily water and fell under the surface. He came up, gasping for breath and coughing, as strong hands pulled him onto his feet.
“You ok, Tom?” asked Septimus. Tom coughed up some more filthy water and then nodded weakly, one hand still clutching the torch.
“This way then, son,” Septimus ordered and led him towards the door. The sub’s lights were flickering and water was surging through now so that the two Walkers were forced to struggle against the current. It was hard work and they had to pull themselves along by the expediency of grabbing pipes and pieces of equipment on the walls. The next compartment was a bunk room where the crew slept and rested when off duty and here they found that blankets, items of clothing and even books were floating past them.
Finally, they made it to the door at the end of the bunk room, beyond which lay the control room. They attempted to step through – or rather swim through, because now the water was up to their necks and they were kicking with their legs whilst still hauling along the walls. Suddenly, they heard a scream ahead and saw a man shoot past them, carried along by the current. Tom glanced at his face. It was not Charlie, but the Paladin’s Lieutenant. He seemed to have hit his head on the door and he was unconscious as he floated off towards the engine room. Tom reached out to try and catch him, but Septimus pulled his arm away.
Tom glared at him angrily, but Septimus just looked back sadly and shook his head.
“No boy, we cannot help him. He is not the Walker: he could not travel with us.”
“Damn it, Septimus, we must help him.”
“No! Do as I say and oof ...” Septimus’ reply was cut off because Charlie Hawker had just come hurtling through the door pushed by a surge of water and had knocked Septimus under the surface. The U–boat moved suddenly over on its side and all three of them were dashed against the side wall. Charlie was knocked out, Septimus was nowhere to be seen and Tom was left floundering. He pulled his mask down and manoeuvred the mouthpiece of the diving equipment into place. Just then, the water reached the U–boat’s lights and with several pops they went out, leaving Tom in pitch blackness with the sub now full of water.
Tom, trapped in a pitch black submarine, which was now sinking fast towards the bottom of the sea, had never been more terrified. He had to tell himself to calm down and try to think. Charlie was the priority: he had no breathing equipment and was now under
water. Tom clicked on the torch and shone it around. Sheets of paper billowed about and a tin can floated past. Then he saw Charlie a few feet away, sinking and still out cold. He reached across and grabbed him by the hand. Then he quickly looked about for Septimus, but his companion was nowhere to be seen. The water was dark with oil, making it impossible to see down through it more than a foot or so. Next to him, Charlie was fighting to breathe: Tom could wait no longer. There was nothing he could do about Septimus, Charlie was drowning. He closed the young man’s fingers around the glass ball and held them there, then reached out for the Flow of Time.
Moments later, Tom and Charlie lay collapsed on the floor of the Professor’s room, drenching his nice Persian rug. Charlie gasped in a breath of air, vomited up a stomach full of water, opened his eyes a brief moment and then slumped back, unconscious, on the floor.
“Thomas, where is Septimus?” asked the Professor.
Tom, noticing that on this occasion the Professor had not been surprised by his sudden appearance, lifted his head up and looked sadly back at the old man.
“Gone, sir, I think he’s dead.”